The Midnight News 08.08.05

hyatte | August 7, 2005 | Archive | 0 Comments


I just wanted to say after reading your column which included some healthy praise for my boy the Hulkster, it was pretty damned refreshing. 

Never in my life have I seen so many hypocrites on the net. “Sheep” seems to be the word they use for the marks that go with the WWF flow, but they all the “sheep” on the internet go with the flow of whoever seems to be the flavor of the month good or bad in the news. Beniot is God and Hulk Hogan and HHH are the devil. They are all “marks” for their own rediculous writing and opinions and believe that because they like the wrestling part of the business rather than both the wrestling and entertainment part of the business, that they are somehow superior and more sophisticated than everyday fans. 

I have actually defended Hulk Hogan so much that spitting out one-liners to knock down some hating little Beniot Fan Boy is a reflex action. Drop it. Has Guerrero, Jericho, any of these great wrestlers ever in their lives gotten a ten minute standing ovation just for showing up? No. Thats why Vince keeps bringing Hogan back, because he is STILL the biggest star and entertainer in the business and the fans treat him as such. Forget his past accomplishments (11 world titles, headlining the first 9 Wrestlemanias, making merchandising what it is today, and bringing both the WWF and WCW to their most lucrative periods ever), right now he comes out and the fans go crazier than they ever did for him. No other star in the business comes close to getting that type of reaction, with maybe the Rock coming in a close second, but then again…the internet hates him too don’t they? 

Anyway man, mucho praise on the column. I love great wrestling, but entertainment comes first and always will. Good stuff out there Hyatte. 

Take it easy and remember, Hulk Rules brother! 


I just like how Hogan ALWAYS manages to finagle his way into a killer storyline, JUST as everyone thinks that Hulk-A-Mania is FINALLY dead… the ornage bastard does it EVERY DAMN TIME.

And really, who ISN’T looking forward to seeing how his SummerSlam match with HBK goes down?

That’s all I have for e-mails… not even a flamer… ther end is most certainly near.

Oh, hey, hello BrownNosers, I’m Chris and this is the Midnight News. I’m changing formats around a little for this week’s edition of the non-stop Summer of Hyatte which has finally hit its halfway mark. I’m putting a couple of standrd segments on break for a bit, and I’m keeping the rasslin’ reporting down. 

Why? because I feel like it. Because I don’t WANT to report on Bret Hart and the Ultimate Warrior and Triple H and Summerslam and Trish and huge growths on people’s faces and how everything sucks and Hogan and Cena and Jericho and Matt Hardy. I have no opinions on anything this week… I just feel like posting bullshit. So that’s what this week is… a bullshit week. All new stuff, of course, FRESH material… fun is to be had… but none if it is all too educational. Except for the Fun Facts feature… you’ll learn something there.

Anywhoo… let’s take a break from anything REALLY newsworthy and just kick around some stuff I’ve been meaning to post for a while. No hassles… nothing too it. 

Off we go… 


Oh, so I’ll have ONE bit of opinionated, thought-provoking commetary here…

If you remember the WWF back in the late 80’s, early 90’s, you’ll remember just how silly feuds would start. 

I mean, I remember Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka making a return to the company. He was being interviewed by Gene Okerlund on the raised section of the arena when, for ABSOLUTELY NO REASON at all, Jimmy Hart and the Honky Tonk Man came out and started jawing at him for no reason. Snuka hadn’t even opened his mouth and Hart started ranting, “You better not get in the Honky Tonk Man’s face, Snuka! He’s the BIG CHEESE around here!!” 

So Snuka, naturally, dove on them both, and thus started a 9 month mid-card feud that no one cared about.

But stuff like that happened all the time, while Vince was concerned with the top three feuds of the month, (the money feuds with the money wrestlers), alll the WWF mid-carders were just thrown together in dumb feuds for no reason. Hell, I watched the Beverly Brothers attack the New Hart Foundation (Owen Hart replaced Bret) only because they walked past them in between matches.

Now granted, Vince had a steroid trial to deal with at the time, and the IRS was crawling up his ass with a cattle prod and a search warrant, but I don’t think it would’ve mattered. When there is no belt on the line, when there is nothing but pride or a competitive spirit to fight for, getting two title-less mid-card guys to fight for believable reasons is TOUGH.

Which is why we see the same old storylines and angles again and again. Usually it involves someone turning heel against his partner, or an act of betrayal, or jealousy, or a mis-cue which turns ugly, or someone uses a chair during a match and a rematch is demanded, or someone tormented/made a pass at someone else’s girlfriend, or the simple babyface is getting too chummy with the Heel’s valet. Or a journeyman scores an upset win and the veteran wants revenge. You name it, they’ve done it, over and over and over and over again.

Now six years ago, Vince Russo cared enough about the paycheck of every wrestler in the WWF to tirelessly build unique, new storylines for everyone, upper, mid, and lower card. Some worked, some didn’t, but he provided a fresh, unique reason for every feud in ever quarter hour. We watched Raw for Stone Cold vs Vince McMahon, but we stayed with the show for two hiurs to see what everyone else was up to.

Oh, and putting some thought and time into every single feud also helped put every single worker in the company in SOME sort of title picture.

Not only did he do that, but Russo did that while creating a two hour Raw which tried to be seamless with its flow. It’s not two hours of wrestling, Raw hasn’t been like that since it debuted. It’s a show hour televison show. Always has been, in case you noticed. The McMahon’s don’t want a wrestling show. They want a TELEVISION show.

They want a TELEVISION show whose cast of characters have something new to do outside of the ring every week. They want a television show where there are reasons for every match, where every storyline has more of a backstory other than “This guy hates that guy so now they’ll settle this in the ring!” They are hoping for every storyline, every worker, to make a connection with the audience. They want you, the fan, to invest yourself emotionally into every minute of this show, no matter who is on.

That’s the DREAM, now. Doesn’t mean its the reality. Who are we kidding? Some of these gimmicks and storylines are just plain retarded. That new chick with the growth on her face, Kerwin White, etc… Well, that’s the McMahon’s way of catering to what they think is their TRUE audience. Their trailer park toothless white audience. (They ain’t that far off from the truth, neither)

In any case, the McMahons want their creative people to write a TV show every week, with fresh ideas for the wrestlers that can’t be gotten from old school bookers who have been in the business and know all the ins and outs for the last 20 years. Those guys are Agents. They make sure the house shows stay smooth and the in-ring action follows the plan. They can’t write a TV show and I doubt they wuld want to.

So yeah, while its easy to bitch out the WWE for hiring TV writers who confuse Edge with Christian and have no idea who Katie Vick is and who ask how they get the blood capsules up their noses, and it IS funny and definitely bitch worthy… keep in kind that sometimes, in order to re-build a sagging product, you have to go looking for completely fresh ideas in completely new places. And you need people experienced with making TV to help make your rasslin’ show a TV show.

So that’s why Stephanie is hiring non-fans to write her TV show. She’s trying to find new outlooks.

Bust them all you like, but what if one of these newbies turns around and makes Raw fun to watch again? What if someone who used to write for Dawson’s Creek makes Smackdown Must-See TV?

You kids, you have GOT to stop predicting doom and gloom so much. They are bringing in brand new minds to work their product, who knows what they come up with.

And that’s all the intelligencia your gonna get this week… let the column crap COMMENCE!! 


Here’s a nice cautionary tale for you…

There’s a man named Tommy Fierro. All I know about him is that he used to send me e-mails (I was part of a list, no special treatment here) asking me to promote his indy things and various wrestle-riffic get-togethers. He also used to write for 1wrestling. I only stayed dimly aware of him because he had a cool rasslin’ name.

He vanished… and life went on.

Well, he suddenly re-emerged, with a startling confessional made on the LAST PLACE ON EARTH guys in the business should make a confessional… a message board where you can post anonymously…

Here is a slightly edited version of what he posted. Its long, but stay with it, because I am not going to disappoint here. There’s a hilarious pay-off

Wow, where do I even begin? 

I’m sitting in front of my computer right now, thinking about how great it felt to pull off my FAN SLAM! “Tribute To WrestleMania1” convention last year. It was the greatest event I have ever promoted, with over 1,800 fans from all over the world coming in to meet all of the legends that started WrestleMania out. It was the day before WrestleMania XX, and the event/convention received a ton of press. It started out with an idea to get a few of the guys from the first Mania there, and then it snowballed into me adding more and more guys every day. It got to the point where I had 20 guys coming in for the event, and I began to ask myself, “Did I go a little overboard here? Can I pull this off?” 

The event was a huge success and FAN SLAM! was on it’s way to bigger and better things. I was so happy with how the event came off and even happier that my name was getting back into the mix again. I was planning on bringing FAN SLAM! on the road to different states and capitalize on my idea. Then something went terribly wrong, out of no where, I lost focus and fell into a trap that I’m just starting to dig myself out of. 

Shortly after my last FAN SLAM! event, which was an extremely profitable event for me, I became a big shot. I booked back to back two week vacations to Bahamas and Hawaii. I didn’t care, I just made a ton of money and I was planning on making a lot more of it. I thought I’d be able to take my event on the road and make a living doing it. I was about to quit my regular job and work full time on wrestling. I had made enough money to pay my rent for the next year and still have a good amount of money to play with. Finally, after 12 years in the wrestling business, I was going to be able to live my dream and do wrestling as my full-time job. That’s what I thought anyway. 

I began spending money like crazy. I had planned two more big conventions for last summer, which if you were following the FAN SLAM! events, you know they never came off. One event was going to be an ECW Reunion convention, one year before Shane Douglas ever thought of doing it. With the help of Tod Gordon, I had basically everyone and their mother booked for it. It was going to be a convention in the day and a show at night. My main event was going to be Sabu vs. Terry Funk in a Steel Cage with Mick Foley as the referee. I never even had the chance to announce that because this is where things went downhill for me. More on the ECW show later. 

So I go to Hawaii for two weeks and party it up. When I mean party it up, I was living large down there. I was spending a ton of money and partying like I was a rock star. I come back home to New Jersey and thought of the ECW idea. I found a hotel in Philadelphia to hold it in and had to go down there to sign the contract with them. So what do I do? I’m a big hotshot now so I take a limo down there. Who does that? How freaking stupid. So when I’m done signing the contract, I’m not ready to go home yet. I want to party now. So I rent the limo for the rest of the day and go all around Philly partying and then back to New Jersey to do some more of it. 

I then decide I’m going to the Bahamas. 

So I get to the Bahamas and we go and check out the casino. This is a few hours into me getting there on the first day. I’m up $1,500 on Blackjack and my friends want to go back to the hotel and eat and go out for the night, so we leave. I’m half in the bag when we leave the casino. We go back to the hotel and drink a lot more. It’s now 9 p.m. and everyone is messed up and is ready to go out to the club and get messed up some more. Not me. I’m ready to go back to the casino and make some more money. 

So my friends leave to go to the club and I return to the casino, wasted, to win some more money. Within a few hours, I drop back the $1,500 to the house. No biggie right? It wasn’t my money anyway, I’ll just win it back. Now they are feeding me drinks, they see that I’m spending some big money. I then made the biggest mistake I ever made in my life. I go to the ATM machine to get some money out. $1,000 gone, $2,000 gone. Now I’m getting hot. I want to win my money back. 

So I go back to the ATM again and take out my personal savings, I’m ready to win some serious money. And I was starting to. I’m betting like I’m Donald Trump, $500 a hand. Needless to say I won back the $2,000 that I lost that was mine, the $1,500 from the house, and several thousand dollars more. I was up big time. Now I’m really drinking like crazy. Then, my life falls apart. I lose all of that money again, along with my entire bank account. I lost it all. 

I woke up the next morning and I wanted to jump off of a cliff. I couldn’t believe what I had just done the night before. I lost everything I owned, everything I worked so hard for. All because of alcohol. I was so depressed, I couldn’t believe what I had just done. Needless to say, I drank myself further into depression for the remainder of the vacation. 

Once I get back to New Jersey, with two huge events planned, I couldn’t handle it. I wasn’t in the right state of mind and the drinking continued. Every single night I would go out and get messed up, not giving any attention to these two huge events I had planned. I didn’t have the money now anyway, I lost it all. My nut was huge for these events. Not only did I have the ECW one, I had another one booked with Bret Hart, Lex Luger, Buff Bagwell, Powers of Pain, Bad News Brown, and others. So now I’m drinking myself sick thinking how I’m going to pull this off after I lost everything I had in the Bahamas. 

I lost it. 

I canceled both events and fell off the face of the wrestling world for the last year and a half. The ECW convention was going to be huge, and it would have topped the Tribute To WrestlingMania 1 event. I can’t even begin to think how big FAN SLAM! would have been at this very moment if that show came off as planned. What about all of my dreams? What about taking FAN SLAM! on the road like I was planning to? What about my dreams of working for the WWE one day? It all disappeared overnight because I became an alcoholic. Damn it! 

I wish the last year and a half was a huge nightmare and I’d wake up and it would be WrestleMania XX and I could do it all over again. But I can’t. What happened was real and I made some horrible mistakes and decisions. I always read stories about how guys in the business fall prey to their demons. I always shook my head when reading them too, because I’d say to myself “Man, that guy has so much talent, why is he messing his life up for.” I never thought that I’d be sitting here now thinking the same way about myself. 

FAN SLAM! was on a role and I was on my way to taking over the wrestling business on the convention level. I eat, sleep, and breathe the wrestling business 24/7 and that’s all I want to do with my life. But how do I come back from that I thought. I said to myself that I just blew whatever career I might have had in the business and disappeared. I was so ashamed that I didn’t even sign on the computer for almost a year, just because I didn’t want to read what was going on and getting even more depressed about the situation. 

I lost all contact with the business and everyone that was in it. I lost my phone book with over a 500 numbers of wrestlers in the business. I threw my hands up and said I give up. Never did I stop loving the business, I still watched RAW, SMACKDOWN! and PPVs every week, but it wasn’t the same. I was no longer involved in it and it ate me alive. 

A few months ago I began thinking about wanting to promote events again, now that my head is back on straight. Everytime I went to the computer to type the letter I’m typing right now, I’d stop in the middle of it and sign off. I was scared. Not only did I let myself down, the wrestlers I had booked down, and my friends down, I let the fans that spent their hard earn money at my events down. I wasn’t about to write about all of my personal problems, so I decided at the time that no answer or reason behind my actions would be a good one without telling the truth. 

The last month or so I have been itching so bad to write this letter, but kept second guessing myself on it and decided not to. But the business is in my blood. I’m 28 years old and have been promoting events since I was 16 years old. It’s all I know and all I love. I came to the point where I said, “I can’t stay away any longer, I have to tell everyone what happened to me.” I thought maybe if I tell people my story, it might make them feel better about the situation, or at the very least it would get the truth out there. 

I then started to think about how many guys in this business have messed up time and time again and still got chances. There are other promoters that have done far worse things that I have that are still in the business. All I did was cancel a couple of shows, right? Wrong, because I’m ashamed by that and I let everyone down and I couldn’t face anyone after that. 

The other night I was out with a good friend of mine and he said to me, “What are you doing? Why aren’t you doing what you’re supposed to be doing, promoting wrestling events?” He got on my case about it, like all of my friends have been for the last year. I always blow off my friends when they start talking about it, usually saying something along the lines of “I will, when the time is right.” Bulls***! I was being a coward and didn’t want to come back to the business without giving the reason of why I disappeared, I lost any credibility I had last year, and I know that, so how can I just come back and promote events without giving the truth to what happened last year? I couldn’t. 

I recently decided that I was going to tell the truth. I decided there was nothing to hide. Sure, I’m not proud to go on the Internet and share my personal business to the entire world, but it needed to be done. I had a big problem, one that is under control now but certainly wasn’t back then. I became heavily addicted to alcohol and I let it ruin my life. 

I’m currently a bartender and waiter, and I make decent money. It pays my bills and puts a roof over my head, but it’s not what I want to do with my life. Wrestling is all I want and ever will want. Like my friends, I know that I should be running events and doing shows all over the place. I know I should be involved on the Internet with wrestling, like back when I was writing my columns for for such a long time, which I really loved doing. I use to write columns every day for them about ideas of what I’d do booking for WWE. It was great. 

It just stinks because WWE was taking notice of FAN SLAM!, as they contacted me for the last two events I ran asking if they can send some of their employees down from WWE Magazine to do some stories on the guests I had. It got me excited because WWE saw that a 27 year old, at the time, did all of this himself. I had no backers, no partners, no nothing. It was all me and me alone. 

The bottom line is that I love this business. No amount of Coors Lights can’t beat the rush I get when I see thousands of fans walking around my events with huge smiles on their faces. No Coors Light beats the rush of putting an idea down on paper and seeing it come off to perfection. No amount of Coors Lights can replace the empty feeling I have of not being in the wrestling business right now. 

I’ve decided that I will return my FAN SLAM! Wrestling events sometime in the near future. I’m not sure exactly when yet, but I will. For the time being though, I’d like to write about the business like I did a few years ago. I always enjoyed doing that and I think it would be good for me. I can sit here and write about wrestling all day long. 

I’d like to end this letter by saying how sorry I am for letting any FAN SLAM! Wrestling fans down. For anyone that I have lost contact with, my E-mail address is: and IM name is TOMMYFIERRO1. 

I’m also now on MYSPACE at: 

I’d love to talk to anyone that wants to. 

Thanks for taking the time out of your day to read my letter. I appreciate it more than you’d ever know. 

Yours in Wrestling, 

Tommy Fierro

So there you go. Fierro comes clean, confesses his sins, tells his tale, and looks FORWARD toi the future… and hopes the FANS… hopes YOU will support him, understand him, and FORGIVE him!!

Well…. ummm… remember when I said that he posted this on a message board where anyone can post anonymously?

Well… here is the reaction Fierro got for pouring his heart out. The “-“s means its a new comment. After reading you’ll understand why I have to point this out:






Tommy I really miss you, just kill yourself and get down here because its really hot…

Tommy your a 5 time loser. Each time you rob the fans of money and come back on the boards and blame it on something else. First your a pot head, then a drunk. Go f*ck yourself and realize your a loser. You blew your money lost your fans and now your company. Please go away and stay away. Please get your life together before you end up dead.

Hey Tommy, I hope the next drink you have is hemlock. Go f*cking die you won’t get any sympathy you four eyed f*cker.






Hey Get off The Internet Put down The Bottle,and BUS TABLE #14. Tommy Fiero Bus Boy To The Stars Applebys rt 46 Totawa.

wow I may have made some money that belonged to other people back in 1992 when I cancelled my last TWA show and I was still taking the money a week after I knew it was going to be cancelled. BUT YOU TAKE THE CAKE!!!! I might be able to get back in the bussines if they let you in.

Was that letter serious? Was that the real Tommy? If so, THAT WAS PATHETIC. You are a drunk loser and i hope you die a slow and painful death drinking booze in an alley./ Fuck off you dumb derelict.

Go fall asleep in a garbage can u bum

im going to throw whiskey in ur face

tommy fierro is a coward. tell everyone about the money u owe everyone. f*ck u fierro

Tommy you are a f*cking idiot and drunken loser. What kind of stupid lush takes a job as a bartender? Oh yeah, one that can’t find work anywhere else because he’s pathetic. Nobody in wrestling cares about you, ya f*ckin mark. Stay away from it before it kills you for good, weak pussyass.

Fuck Tommy Fierro. I have friends that are still owed money from this loser asshole and just because he struck gold a couple years ago don’t mean jack shit if he still don’t pay anyone what he owes them. No one who is a smart businessman in wrestling would trust this douchebag to even run the concession stand. He’s broke and if anyone loans him money it’s gonna go straight to the f*cking brewing company. Coors is already rich enough, so if this fag comes knocking on your door for money, tell him to FUCK OFF unless you enjoy getting f*cked in the wallet.

Tommy does the Burger Delux come with fries?

Go drink some cum u pussy.

Get this man a gobstopper.




Right on! Fuck Tommy Fierro. Another f*cking loser who made himself a few shekels, got cocky, and high-rolled like an asshole… a wannabe… another f*cking rasslin’ promoter who scrapes leftover shit from the bottom McMahon toilet and suddenly thinks he’s a businessman. 

To all Indy guys out there who might be reading… you wanna make real momney in this business? Work your ass off, and take every cent you make and channel it into your NEXT wrestling venture. RE-INVEST and sit at home and watch video rentals and hump your wife and live poor and don’t worry about exotic locations and impressing people with your roll of hundreds. 

And expect NO pity when you f*ck it all away… because wrestling fans have none. We live for other people’s suffering… thrive off it… ANYONE who’s life is worse than our own we LOVE to mock!! That’;s what we do. Jesus Christ, I’ve been doing it for 8 years, gpot mighty popular for it, and only now am starting to burn out. 

Bravo… Tommy Fierro can die now. Low rent. LOW…. RENT.

This nonsense went down at the Declaration of Independents message board, probably the best board out there. No, really, puts everything else to total shame.


As a companion piece to last week’s Last meal for death row prisoners piece, I thought I’d list a few bits of misdeeds and law breaking shenanigans perpetrated by America’s greatest collection of role models: Professional Wrestlers!

June 6th, 1985: Ken Patera and Mr. Saito: Two counts of battery on an officer and criminal damage to property. They threw a boulder through a McDonalds because it wasn’t opened yet. When asked why Patera said, “What can I say? Those Big Macs have a full nelson on my HEART!!”. Mr. Saito concurred, “Hai, Man can no live on flied lice arone!”

May 26, 1987: “Hacksaw” Jim Duggan and The Iron Shiek: Duggan was arrested for possession of Marijuana and drinking alcohol while driving while the Shiek was nailed on possession of Marijuana and Cocaine. Duggan’s excuse was “I was trying to get the Shiek to bring pot into his country so we can turn them all into pot heads who would be too mellowed out to blow my country up! HOOOOOOOOOOOO U.S.A, U.S.A!!” When asked to list the top five things he did when the cops pulled him over, the Shiek screamed, “I RAN, NUMBER ONE!!”

July, 1998: Jake Roberts: Not paying for Child Support: To the Judge, Roberts threw himself on the mercy of the court and said, “Look yer honor, if I had’ta keep track of every frickin’ kid I ever blew into a rat, I’d be cutting checks so much my frickin’ hand would fall off! Nevermind the fact that it ain’t like I got a steady paycheck coming in every week, you know?” The Judge was about to offer leniency but then Jake started asking the Baliff where he could score some good crack. 

September 8, 1998: Jim “The Anvil” Neidhart: Wrote a bad check. When asked why he shrugged and said, “How was I supposed to know? I’ve gotten so many rubber checks from promoters, I figured it was the way America does business these days!”

September 12, 1998: Tazz: Corrupting the Morals of a Minor and Indecent Exposure. Tazz likes hang out naked with young boys because then his cock doesn’t look so small. 

March 11, 2000: “Mean” Gene Okerlund: DUI. When asked how many drinks he had, Okerland slurred, “I can’t talk about it now, but ifff you call 1-900-4 WsheeW I’ll give you the full story, ONLY on the WsheeC hotline”… then Gene puked all over his Topsiders

February 5, 1999: Tammy Sytch: Acting strangely. She was released once it was determined that she was actually clean and sober. It was a condition that no one ever saw her in before, so naturally she was arrested.

August 5, 2004: Gary Yap (Promoter): Wrongful cruelty to a child and four charges of Grand Theft: “Daddy, why are these wrestlers mad at you? Why are you trying to outrun them? Why do we keep getting into other people’s cars after you crash? Why haven’t you paid Mommy anything for my upbringing? Why don’t you just pay these wrestlers who worked for you? Why am I in this high speed chase with you? What do you mean you want to sell me to a kiddie porn producer for a few bucks? Why do you want me to take pictures of my pee pee? Aren’t you worred about how this will make wrestling look? What’s a rat? Why are we going to Mexico? Did Vince ever make Stephanie go through this?” 

May 27, 2001: Road Dogg: Refused to leave the ring and building at an Indy show, causing a heated argument. If he wasn’t eventually hauled off, he would have also been charged with first degree manslaughter, for sucking the life out of the building during his time in the ring. This is why Vince always kept his matches to under ten minutes, Vince is a wise, wise man.

I have more, but why flood the column. Although there is one more I’d like to add..

Current: Trish Stratus: Grand theft larceny, for stealing the heart of anyone lucky enough to be touched by her radiance, kindness, and beauty. 

All together now… AWWWWWWWWW…


As a public service, for you, from me…

Do you like skateboarders who f*ck up and land on their nads… hard?

How about on their faces… HARD?

Do you like watching assholes climb out of their trucks and riding it from the roof… I should point out that these are the DRIVERS? 

Do you want to see someone get SMASHED into a car?


Do you like watching white boys fight… with no technique. Swinging arms like runaway garden hoses?

Do you like watching a hockey player get hit so hard he stumbles around for 30 seconds?

Do you like watching a fat kid get hit with a spitball, calmly walk over and pop the guy who threw it right in the face?


Do you like seeing people get knocked out cold?

And do you like watching this while listening to the soothing sounds of Limp Bizkit’s “Break Stuff”?

Then watch this… you WILL thank me later.

No, for real, it’s awesome… makes me want to slap some asshole around.


This is what being a Net God gets you:

BigWetHug: state your ethnicity, hytatte
Hyatte1com: caucasion

BigWetHug: uh… by hytatte i meant hyatte. it’s a pet name
BigWetHug: but where in europe do your ancestors come from

BigWetHug: you f*cking kraut
Hyatte1com: no
BigWetHug: mick?
Hyatte1com: British

BigWetHug: one final question
BigWetHug: do you know any racial slurs for british folk
Hyatte1com: god please let that be the truth
Hyatte1com: wankers, bloomers, stewbums, gits, tossers, 

BigWetHug: you f*cking bumstewing wanker
Hyatte1com: of course, Hyatte is my pen name

BigWetHug: i remember seeing your real name but I didn’t care enough to commit to memory
Hyatte1com: lying sack of bollockgruelbits

I am fully aware that this was not all that amusing, nor was it entertaining…

What can I say? Slow news week.


No, really, I am HURTING for filler… so I present to you the following. 

Every word is true, the name has been changed to protected the embarrassed.

Hottie: i think we should make an agreement
Hyatte1com: okay

Hottie: i think that if you dont marry “trish” within 4 years then you should settle with considering me
Hyatte1com:you’re gonna wait 4 years?
Hottie: ill try

Hyatte1com: four years?
Hyatte1com: come on
Hottie: what?

Hyatte1com: so much can happen
Hottie: of course

Hyatte1com: okay, I’m marrying some bitch before I hit 40… so you’re on

I stand by that… I’m marrying SOMETHING by 40…

And really, I know long, loving marriages that have begun on far less than “Okay, if I’m still single by 40 you’re in!”


*The most collect calls are made on Father’s Day..*

And just like that, you’re smarter than you were three seconds ago

Hyatte LIVES to inform.

Father’s Day… heh heh… cuz most daddys are either in jail or they scram! “Father’s Day? That’s when I get outta town, motherf*cka!!!”

Father’s Day… the most confusing day of the year for WWE Superstars. “Where we at? Omaha? Sheeit, how many rats I knocked up here? Aw Hell… Johnny, I hurt my knee! Can I sit this weekend out??”


What I do here is take lines from movies/tv shows and put them here for your amusement and/or delight! Neat, huh?

This week, we open things up with what might be one of the most RIDICULOUS monologues I have ever heard…

And, of course, because no one else could, the orator of this monologue, the “ACTOR” in this scene, the Sir Laurence Olivier of our time… why, none other than a true great american actor… Steven “The Fuck” Seagal!

1) How many of you out there have heard of alternative engines? Engines that can run on anything from alcohol to garbage and water? Or carburetors that can get hundreds of miles to the gallon? Or electric or magnetic engines that can practically run for ever? You don’t know about them because if they were to come into use, they’d put the oil companies out of business. The concept of the internal combustion engine has been obsolete for fifty years. But because of the oil cartels and corrupt government regulations we, and the rest of the world, have been forced to use gasoline for over one hundred years. Big business is primarily responsible for destroying the water we drink, the air that we breathe and the food we eat. They have no care for the world they destroy. Only for the money they make in the process. How many oil spills can we endure? Millions and millions of gallons of oil are now destroying the oceans and the many forms of life it supports. Among these is plankton, which supplies 60 to 90 percent of the earth’s oxygen, which supports the entire marine eco-system which forms the basis of our planet’s food supplies. But the plankton is dying. I thought well, let’s go to some remote state or country, anywhere on earth. But in doing a little research I realized these people brought their toxic waste all over the world. They basically control the legislation, and in fact they control the law. The law says that no company can be fined over $25,000 a day. For a company making $10 million a day by dumping lethal toxic waste into the ocean it’s only good business to continue doing this. They influence the media so that they can control our minds. They make it a crime to speak out for ourselves. And if we do so, we’re called conspiracy nuts. We’re laughed at. We’re all angry because we’re all being chemically and genetically damaged, and we don’t even realize it. Unfortunately this will affect our children. We go to work each day and right under our noses we see our car and the car in front of us spewing noxious and poisonous gasses that are cumulative poisons. These poisons kill us slowly, even when we see no effect. How many of us would have believed if we were told twenty years ago that on a certain day we wouldn’t be able to see fifty feet in front of us? That we wouldn’t be able to take a deep breath because the air would be a mass of poisonous gas? That we wouldn’t be able to drink out of our faucets, that we’d have to buy water out of bottles? The most common and God given rights have been taken away from us. Unfortunately the reality of our lives is so grim nobody wants to hear it. Now I have been asked what we can do. I think we need a responsible body of people that can actually represent us rather than big business. This body of people must not allow the introduction of anything into our environment that is not absolutely biodegradable or able to be chemically neutralized upon production. And finally, as long as there is profit to be made from the polluting our earth, companies and individuals will continue to do what they want. We have to force these companies to operate safely and responsibly, with all our best interests in mind, so that when they don’t we can take back our resources and our hearts and our minds to do what’s right.On Deadly Ground

02): Is that the Russian ambassador you’re talking about? 

Yes it is, General. 

A-A-Am I to understand that the Russian ambassador is to be admitted entrance to th-the War Room? 

That is correct, he is here on my orders. 

I… I don’t know exactly how to put this, sir, but are you aware of what a serious breach of security that would be? I mean, he’ll see everything, he’ll… he’ll see the
Big Board!
Dr. Strangelove 

03): Ya know, half of these gook whores are serving officers in the Viet Cong; the other half have got T.B. Be sure you only f*ck the ones that cough.Full Metal Jacket 

04): If there is no honor among perverts and pornographers then the whole business goes down the drain!8MM

05): One time my cousin Walter got this cat stuck in his ass. True story. He bought it at our local mall, so the whole fiasco wound up on the news. It was embarrassing for my relatives and all, but the next week, he did it again. Different cat, same results, complete with another trip to the emergency room. So, I run into him a week later in the mall and he’s buying another cat. And I says to him, “Jesus, Walt! You know you’re just gonna get this cat stuck in your ass too. Why don’t you knock it off ?” And he said to me, “Brodie, how the hell else am I supposed to get the gerbil out ?” My cousin was a weird guy.Mallrats

06): Where do you live? 

In the city. 

You have a house? 


Own or rent? 


What do you do for a living? 

Lots of things. 

Where’s your office? 

I don’t have one. 

How come? 

I don’t need one. 

Where’s your wife? 

Don’t have one. 

How come? 

It’s a long story. 

You have kids? 

No I don’t. 

How come? 

It’s an even longer story. 

Are you my Dad’s brother? 

What’s your record for consecutive questions asked? 


I’m your Dad’s brother alright. 

You have much more hair in your nose than my Dad. 

How nice of you to notice. 

I’m a kid – that’s my job.Uncle Buck 

07): 07): What are you being like this for? 

Fuck you. Three days you don’t call, not even to see how I am. 

Baby, I’m busy. I gotta work! How else am I gonna take care of you when you’re nine months pregnant? 


Of course I’m serious! 

Ralphie, I love you. 

I love you too, baby. Hey, if it’s a boy, we’ll name him after me. If it’s a girl, we’ll name it Tracee after you… that way she could grow up to be a cocksuckin’ slob just like her mother. Are you out of your f*cking mind? 

Guinea motherf*ckin’ piece of shit! 

Yeah, that’s right. Get it out! Get it out you little HUWAA!The Sopranos 

08): I want a bicycle. 

Listen, a bicycle is going to take a lot of balloons and frankly, Uncle Jeremy is a bit tired. How about I make you something else?

Why… why are you yelling at me? 


All right, I’m going to make you a bicycle. But I don’t want to make you a bicycle. 

Shut your mouth, funny guy, and make it.

[makes a huge balloon bicycle] 

Take that, you hyena. (kid leaves) Don’t say “thank you”.Wedding Crashers 

09): Get a f*cking haircut. Looks like your mother f*cked a monkey.Deadwood 

10): In life you have to do a lot of things you don’t f*cking want to do. Many times, that’s what the f*ck life is… one vile f*cking task after another.Deadwood 

Ever watch that Deadwood? I tried, but the dialogue is too CONFUSING… way too much gibberish.

Anyway… I thought I’d end it here with a little real life story from my real life… really. What the hell, let’s see if I can still spin a yarn while gearing up for the big And Another Thing: Independence on a Saturday Night


Chapter One: The Uninvited Stranger

It was Saturday night and I was home… alone, so dreadfully alone. Late, yes it was. Late.

In my parlor, I have no overhead lights, and my lamp had burned its bulb a week ago. I keep forgetting to buy new bulbs, so the light from the TV is all I have.

So, Saturday night, around one o’clock, I get up to get a glass of Chianti when something brushes my arm and flies into the kitchen. It’s a hot summer night, so I figure it’s a butterfly, or at the very least, a bigger than average moth. I went and got my wine in the well-lit kitchen and I felt a small gust of air on the back of my neck. I turned and saw a large winged animal turn back into my dark parlor. It was small and gray and didn’t hover near the overhead kitchen light. Small, yes, but bigger than any bug outside of the rainforest. I knew it wasn’t a moth.

A goddam bat was in my home.

Now, what I know about bats are as followed: They hate light. They have their own built in sonar. They can’t see so they’re apt to fly right into your face. They also have been called “Rats with wings”. 

Speaking of rats, I also know that bats carry more diseases than rats at a Rob Black XWF show. I hate rats. I hate mice. I hate pretty much anything that comes into my home and runs around willy nilly.

So I turned on every light in my home, grabbed a broom, and waited. The thing didn’t come back. I figured he found a hole and took off. I figured I was safe.

Chapter Two: When Death Attacks

Sunday night, eight o’clock. The daylight was breathing its last outside my parlor window. Shadows were closing in. On a hunch, and just to make sure, I had turned on my kitchen light just to get some illumination into my parlor. I wasn’t worried. I felt quite sure that the flying beast had found its way out of my home. All was well in Hyatte-Country.

Then a shadow passed by the reflected light from my kitchen. A small shadow cut through the brightness. My breath shorted. My adrenaline kicked in. I began to sweat. I was alive, alert, stunned out of my sloth-like complacency.

It was back. It was hungry.

I got up and grabbed my broom that I reserve for my pet parrot, Jake (a blue and gold Macaw that says: “Hey buddy”, “Hello”, “Pretty Bird”, “What’s the problem”, “How are ya”, “Shut up”, “Shut the f*ck up”, “Fuck you”, and likes to say “What” repeatedly like “Stone Cold” Steve Austin.) and went towards the kitchen. I was ready to fight. 

The goddam bat buzzed me. Buzzed right past me INTO my parlor. It went on the offensive! 

I screamed, “AHHHHHH” ducked my head down, and swung wildly with my broom. I think I clipped it from behind. I turned around and the bat had flown back around and was aiming right for me! From the kitchen light I saw its eyes: black, evil, souless. I raised the broom to my face to protect my handsomeness. It buzzed me again.

And then Jake freaked out. Jake was watching this unfold quietly but once he saw the broom, he instinctively cawed “FUCK YOU!!” and flew to the other room, my bedroom, screaming and wailing like he does whenever he takes flight. The bat heard that unbearable sound and flew away. I took a mistep and stepped right on the cheescake I was enjoying at the time. My foot landed squarely into the cheesecake, syrupy cherries mashed between my toes. I shouted “Aw FUCK ME!!” From my bedroom, Jake yelled, “Shut the f*ck up!” The bat flew into the kitchen. I think it was giggling. It won the round.

Slowly, with great deliberation, I cleaned my foot off, tossed the mushed cheesecake aside, cuddled the clearly taumatized bird, told him it was okay, and gently locked him in his cage. The shadow zoomed left and right from the kitchen light-reflection. The bat was dancing in celebration. Mocking me. I grabbed my broom and steeled myself and went into the kitchen.

Now it was personal.

Chapter Three: Hyatte Makes His Last Stand

It made one more swing around the kitchen before fluying off into the darkened spare bedroom once I stepped into the doorway. I followed, but stopped just short of entering the dark bedroom. Instead, I watched, I observed it’s movements, it’s pattern. It flew the circumference of the spare bedroom over and over, as if it was looking for a hole to escape out of. Good, I thought. Let it know fear. Let it panic.

I entered the spare bedroom and watched it flap about, round and round, always one motion, always the same direction. Beautiful. I took a few swings of the broom, it skillfully flew past each swing. I screamed like a woman and swung again, knocking over my small collection of Blue Boy magazines that I had been planning on putting in my neighbor’s recycle bin but hadn’t gotten around to yet. As pictures of naked man-children scattered about my feet, I decided to turn on the psychological warfare and I flicked on the light.

The bat shrieked in pain and it’s flying grew more erratic, more hostile, but it maintained the same flight pattern. I swung wildly, knocking over various lotions and lubricants, and my prized bottle of Aqua Velva. The bat still avoided my artful lunges. It still laughed at me. It still mocked me.

I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and opened them. Like Ralph Macchio doing the Kata in Karate Kid Part III, I found focus where there was none. I found calm where the was once panic. I became one with my broom. I was the broom. The broom was me.

I smiled. The bat changed its direction and aimed for me. It was aiming for my throat, my eyes, my sanity. 

Not this night, my friend, I thought. You picked the wrong asshole to f*ck with.

I swung and connected with the mothef*cker. It went down on my bed and laid motionless.

Chapter Four: Bat out of HELL

Breathing heavy, I remembered my past dealings with mice – those other creatures that only Satan could have created – and recalled how they can feign dead just long enough to find an escape and come back another day. Not trusting the power of my swing, I planted the broom on the prone beastling and plotted my next move. Under the tightly bound straw, I could hear the bat’s teeth, click, click and rattle, gnashing away at the broom’s meat. Looking for escape, looking for me. I bet it couldn’t wait to sink those clicking fangs on me. It wanted to rip, to tear, to rend. I wasn’t about to give it the satisfaction. I rolled the blanket it was on over again and again and gently slid the broom off it once it was properly rolled. The bat was trapped in a cage of heavy quilt. Unable to move.

I stood there and planned my next move. I considered jumping up and down on the blanket until the bat was flattened, but that would leave me with a disease-infested blanket to contend with. I knew I couldn’t leave it there to die because it might escape. I had to get it outside. I had to carry the rolled up blanket outdoors and unfurl it into the night. Hopefully, the bat would be confused by the change in surroundings and either take off, or it was still stunned by my beautiful Barry Bonds-like swing and just roll onto the grass. Yes, that was the plan. But, in order to do that, I would have to leave the bat alone, unwatched, for a moment while I found some pants. 

One just couldn’t walk outside in my neighborhood with only a t-shirt on, bare-assed for the world to see.

I put the broom on top of the rolled-up blanket, and hunted up a pair of shorts.

Chapter Five: Terror Rules the Night

Fully dressed, and freshly masturbated, I carried the blanket outside and deep into the backyard. I unrolled the blaket by releasing the end furthest from me and makiing a grand sweeping gesture with my arms, hoping the corpse of the bat would sail out and land on the ground. No bat came out on my first try. I opened it further and repeated. No bat came out. Concerned, I opened up the blanket fully and swept it out, letting it glide softly to the ground in all it’s 4 X 2 glory.

Nothing. I flipped it over. Nothing. Not a stain, not a smear, not a chewed up hole. It was as if the bat was never there.

I went back to my apartment, grabbed my broom, and examined the battlezone. I swept the broom under the bed. Jammed it into every dark crevice, every black hole, every shadowy corner. Nothing. Where was it? It must have rolled out soundlessly when I first unfolded the blanket. It must’ve gathered its wits enough to fly out at the moment I opened the blanket, and I just happened to miss it. In any case. It was gone. I had gotten rid of it.

Or did I. Was it cowering in some small nook in the wall, licking its wounds? Was it dead? Was it gathering its friends. Was it watching me as I swept through the room, through the place of its near death? Was it ewatching me and taking notes of its own? Was it watching my throat and licking its teeth in anticipation? Was it watching my eyes and thinking about how nice it will be to pop into them and pluck them out like ripened grapes? Was it watching my balls and thinking of apples in a tree? Probably not, seeing how its blind… but was it imagining doing those things to me? Was it making its own plans?

Right now, hours before sunrise, I type this and I hear noises in the rooms behind me. It could be my over-active imagination… but what if… what if.

Perhaps the war has yet to begin?

This is Hyatte